


I Lose Him Every Time

by The_Female_Gaymer



Series: Overwatch Works [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Don't get excited folks, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Established Relationship, Estrangement, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, In a non-kinky way, M/M, Marriage, Memories, Minor Violence, Same-Sex Marriage, Strained Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8284547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Female_Gaymer/pseuds/The_Female_Gaymer
Summary: It's a part of me, GabrielI wish I could denyThe face that I can barely recognizeHe lives inside of meEvery day of my lifeAnd I can hear him, screaming in the night   It's just a shadowCast from all the lightWherever I go, he's never far behindAnd in the darknessI lose him every timeIn the dark, the two of us combine





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, I'm sorry.
> 
> I have to especially thank the Overwatch discord server I'm a part of, where we had the sappiest "wedding" ever, and I had to write this to feel manly again. I took lines from both the Ana and Jack RPers from over there from the wedding (and I'm the Gabe), so a huge thanks to them for this.
> 
> Also, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLwS0p7U190) song.

The bass was too strong in this bar. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the lyrics. Everything was too fast. The lyrics were too fast. The drums, the guitar, the bass. It was all too fast, and too strong. Whatever happened to taking things slow? Whatever happened to enjoying the moment, instead of having to just keep going without stopping? And why did the music reflect that so well? 

It was Jack’s primary thought as the new music the kids were into thrummed away, but it was muffled past the alcohol in his system. He thumbed at part of the scar that cut through his lips, before taking another swig of his beer, hunched in a booth in the far corner of the bar. His gloves seemed to separate him from the reality in his hands; one on the bottle, and the other resting on his pulse rifle. His gloves separated him from the reality in front of him, around him; holed up in a shitty bar, without a place to call home, without a drive, without cause. The waitress didn’t question the presence of notorious vigilante Soldier: 76; it was one of  _ those  _ shady bars. He could get away with damn near anything, could fuck or kill someone here in this booth and, honestly, probably nothing would happen to him. They just wanted the money. He knew it. He took advantage of it. He took another drink. He hated himself.

When that bottle was gone, he disposed of it at the corner of the table with the five others. SEP had done wonders for his metabolism, but he hated the extra cash he would have to spend to even get just the slightest buzz. It was useful when he wasn’t intending to get drunk. But fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck, he needed it tonight. Tonight, of all nights.

As the waitress brought him another drink, wordlessly, and he wrapped his hand around it, he felt the reminder of his reason to drink tonight, snug around his ring finger on his left hand beneath the tough fabric of his glove.

When he closed his eyes, he could still feel it.

The breeze.

The cool, fresh breeze of October eighth-- today-- on the plains of his own home, on his own farm back in Indiana. The wave of the grass around his legs, probably ruining the pant legs of his suit, but this is what they’d wanted. This is what  _ he  _ had wanted. And Jack hadn’t questioned it.

It was the setting  _ he’d  _ wanted. The wave of the plains, the babble of a nearby brook, the sun shining down. And Jack had suggested here. His home. It had all of that, and a willow tree, branches low and sweeping, caressing your head as you walked beneath-- a promise of safety from the wind and the rain. A promise of sanctuary.

Jack could still see them.

The lanterns.

The paper lanterns, strung up all around, waving in the wind. Beautiful little painted patterns, some trimmed in gold and catching the light of the afternoon sun. That was  _ his  _ idea, too. Most of the setting had been  _ his  _ idea, lots of things Jack hadn’t expected of him to want, and yet he did. The wiring was most of what kept the lanterns from flying away when things got exceptionally windy.

Jack could also still see all his friends. And he could still remember the smiles on their faces, each and every one. Reinhardt. Jesse. Ana. Mercy. All of their smiling faces. He could remember how Reinhardt had walked him to his destination, little Fareeha tossing flower petals at their feet, grinning from ear to ear.

He remember walking beneath the opening in the branches to the willow tree they’d cut, and seeing  _ him _ , standing there, Gérard Lacroix as his best man, and Amélie close behind him, Ana waiting to initiate the ceremony. But his eyes were only on him.  _ Him _ . His smile. His teeth. His hair, that he’d grown out and let become curly at the top. His russet eyes. The  _ love  _ in his eyes. The… the dampness… 

Jack was through his seventh beer before he’d even realized he’d begun, the dryness of his last sip startling him back to the present. With a frustrated grunt, he set it with all the others. He wasn’t near drunk enough, but he was running out of money. He slapped down his tip for the waitress, getting to his feet and dragging his pulse rifle with him, but not before slipping his mask back on.

He wasn’t sure why he still wore the ring. Wasn’t sure why he never took it off. It was just there, and it was only at times like this that he thought about it. Especially today. The anniversary. Jack didn’t feel his loneliness creep in on him often; he was too busy for that, trying to figure out what the hell happened to Overwatch while he’d been blindsided. But on nights like these, where the air mimicked that of that same night twenty seven years ago, he could feel the chains on his heart, trying to pull him down a dangerous path that he wouldn’t trek, refused to follow.

He couldn’t allow the past to slow him down.

As Jack left the bar and entered the crisp night, he let his pulse rifle hang over his shoulder, his left hand shoved deep in his pocket. He swore to himself he was going to take off the damn ring as soon as he got back to his crummy hotel room, throw it in the trash, out the window, flush it down the toilet,  _ something _ . There was no reason to be wearing it anymore. No reason to hold on to the memories. And yet, he’d held on to it all this time. And yet, he couldn’t let go. He couldn’t let  _ him  _ go.

He passed by a club on his way back to the hotel, and his steps faltered when he felt an agonizingly familiar beat pulsing from within. He turned his head to listen more closely to it, even though he didn’t want to. Jack just wanted confirmation that it was what he thought it was.

All it took was the first six words of the first verse for his heart to beat painfully against his ribcage. ‘ _ That song is more than half a century old. Why are they playing it? _ ’

That’s what they’d been asked at the wedding, too. That’s what Jack had been asked when Torb saw it on the wedding playlist.

  
  
  


Jack had shrugged, and looked across the room, as the love of his life spun a young Fareeha around, Amélie giggling off to the side with Ana. “Isn’t it fitting to have a song with the name of the person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with?”

“Bah.” Torbjörn had scoffed at Jack, but he was smiling nonetheless. “I thought _ he _ was supposed to be the sappy loser between the two of you.”

“So did I,” Jack agreed, chuckling. “But you get surprised when you get to know people.” He unfolded his arms and walked out onto the dance floor towards his lover.

At the sight of Jack approaching, the other man set Fareeha down, telling her to run off to be with her mother. Jack held out his hand to him as the slow bass of the song thrummed through the mat that had been set down in the grassy field, the light of closing dawn illuminating the world around them in bright pink and violet.

“Picked this one just for you,” Jack told him, feeling the heat creep into his cheeks.

The other man waited for the words to begin, raising a brow at the sound of his name within the first six words. “Isn’t this song, like, fifty years old?”

“Might be,” Jack replied. “Still holds up though. I think so, at least. Besides, it’s my song to you, so hush. So?” He wiggled his hand. The man in front of him rolled his eyes, though he was smiling and just as pink in the cheeks as Jack was, and let him pull them into a slow dance. The world melted around them, the shades of the setting sky becoming the only focus of their peripheral vision, and their main focus, each other.

Jack knew those scars by heart. Knew how they felt against gentle fingertips, against worshipping lips, but now, before him, they were insignificant and small. The tragic stories behind each one meant nothing. They were just a part of him. They were just a part of his lover, and it wouldn’t be him without them. Those russet eyes, he knew, were laughing at him, but his expression was only a sweet, innocent smile. Those curls atop his head, so rarely seen, twitched and shook in the breeze, with each step, and Jack found himself wanting to thread his fingers behind his head, to hold him closer. His face still smelled vaguely of cologne and the cake Jack himself had smeared on there earlier, and he was sure that, to his beloved, he smelled the same.

“Do you feel different?”

Jack was pulled out of his musings by the question posed to him. “Hmm?”

“Do you feel different? Now that we’ve got the rings on?”

Jack screwed up his face, taking a second to think about it. It was some question. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He did feel different-- it was undoubtedly a huge step forwards in his life. But, at the same time, not much had changed. It was just a title, after all. A change to his and his others’ names that the public may never be privy to. “A little,” he confessed. “But… I like it. You?”

“No.”

Jack blinked. “No you don’t feel different, or no you don’t like it?”

His lover shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t feel any different.” Then, his lips were brushing down against Jack’s ear to continue:

“Because I’ve loved you this much my whole life.  _ Mi amor, mi vida, mi eternidad _ .”

Jack’s cheeks went pink, and he looked away from the man with his hands around his waist. “English, hon. You know I don’t speak Spanish that well.”

His love chuckled, holding Jack’s head in his hands to look down at him, eyes sparkling in the setting sun. The lanterns above them were slowly starting to flicker to life, one by one, as he whispered:

“My love. My life. My eternity.”

  
  
  


Reality crashed back into Jack’s consciousness at the sound of a shriek from the distance. He was running before he even realized that he could still hear the words of the song in his head, though the club was far, far behind him by now. His pulse rifle was in his hands, and he was following the last remaining echoes of the cry in the night. Whoever was in trouble, he was going to do what he could to rectify the situation.

When he rounded the final corner, he skidded to a halt, his heart crashing into his stomach at the sight that greeted him. Not only was he far, far too late to save whoever had been in distress, but their attacker was the last person he had wanted to see tonight.

Reaper.

He was there, sucking out the last remnants of life from the now still, now destroyed corpse, and Jack could see his moon-white eyes glaring back at him from underneath the shadow of his veil, before he quickly snapped that ghostly owl mask back into place. As always, he could never see his face, never see how Zürich altered him for the worse. Reaper would never  _ let _ him see it. He wondered what the man was doing here, of all places-- there was no rumor of nearby Overwatch agents to eliminate, except for--

“Heard you might be around,” he snarled, the threat in his voice sending shivers down Jack’s spine.

\-- except for himself.

Jack just stood there frozen in place, not even aiming his weapon at Reaper. When the apparition started approaching, Jack shook himself from his stupor, snarling from beneath his mask and yanking up his pulse rifle.

“I have my own business here,” he replied to Reaper’s statement. “Best you stay out of it.”

“Your business is my business,” Reaper barked back, reaching Jack-- he had forgotten that retreating was something he ought to do. Jack was just barely able to stop him from raking claws across his chest, catching Reaper’s arm in his hand and kicking him in the gut, putting the distance between them again. He yanked up his weapon again, shooting at the other man, who simply dissipated into smoke.

“And I’m here to  _ finish  _ my business,” Reaper promised, voice detached and all around Jack.

“Big words for such a coward of a man,” Jack snapped, feeling bile build in his throat. “Why don’t you cut the ghost shit and face me like you  _ mean _ business?”

The chuckle that reached his ears grated in his ears.

“Not afraid of the Reaper?”

“Never have been.”

Heavy metal boots were planted in Jack’s back, the force of it thrusting him forwards and his rifle flying out of his hands as he thudded to the ground. He scrambled forwards, not even bothering to look behind him as he wrapped his hand around the handle of his weapon. He was able to turn on to his back and shoot blindly, lucky enough to get two shots in Reaper’s left side. The ghost grunted, stumbling back, granting Jack just enough time to get to his feet. He ducked to the side just in time to avoid a barrage of Reaper’s shotguns, diving behind a wall into a nearby alley. He gasped for breath as he stared at the wall in front of him, a light blue.

It was weird, to note the color of a wall at a time like this, where his life was on the line. His head turned to the side as he listened for the tell-tale sign of Reaper’s approaching footsteps, trying to steady his breathing to the best of his ability. He didn’t have time to react when he was pushed out from the narrow alley, and then somehow, Reaper was in front of him again, a clawed hand taking hold of one arm, while the other wrapped itself on Jack’s visor, scratching the glass with sharp talons in the process.

“I want to see your damn face when I tear the life from your stupid, drugged up, old body,” Reaper growled, not knowing how the mechanism worked on the mask and ruining the semi-fragile springs when he tore off the visor and the mask, tossing it to the side somewhere. Then, he pinned Jack up against the side of the blue wall of the alley again, smoke pouring from the holes in his mask.

It was the exact wrong moment to remember why Jack noted the wall was blue.

  
  
  


“It was a good idea to come to your farm for this.”

Jack laughed, leaning back in his lover’s arms as the two of them sat on the roof of the old red barn on a blanket, wearing nothing but the skin they were born in, having stripped it long ago to consummate their marriage properly. The reception had ended long ago, everyone going back to their hotel or catching flights back to whatever Overwatch base they happened to be stationed at at that particular point in time. Not only was it where they were to be wed, but the two had decided on it as a honeymoon spot as well. It was quiet and secluded, and far away from potential press. Exactly what they wanted.

Nothing, and each other.

Jack agreed with him, after a long, lingering kiss, “Yeah. Lots of room. Plus, it feels great to be home. Even if it’s faded a bit.” He gestured to the chipped white and yellow paint of the main house across the field.

“I could get used to living in a place like this,” his lover admitted. “Even after all my time in LA, I could settle down in a place like this.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. When it’s all over,” he promised Jack, kissing his forehead, “we’ll come back here. Unless you’d want a better place. But I’d like to be close by to all… this.” He gestured around them with a wave of his hand. “The tree. The brook. The memories. All of it. Sit under the tree, look at the stars.”

“And if we fix up the house,” Jack promised too, “I can put a bit more work into it and finish up the back porch my dad never got to. I wouldn’t mind settling down here.” He glanced up lovingly at his beloved.

“Family project then,” the other said with a smile. He looked back at the house again. “We should repaint it. What about a… a light blue?”

Jack grinned and pulled the other down for another long kiss. “I was thinking the same thing. But we can save that for later…”

“Well, yeah,” his lover scoffed, rolling on top of Jack. “We’re not gonna paint it right  _ now _ , half hard and naked, in the dark. No, we’re not doing that.”

He nuzzled into the side of Jack’s neck, the hairs of his beard tickling the sensitive skin there, and Jack laughed as his baby blues reflected the light of the moon.

  
  
  


“ **_Are you even listening to me?!_ ** ”

Jack jumped, startled, blinking blearily at the owl mask in front of him. His mouth flapped uselessly a couple times, only now realizing that there was a distinct lack of air in his chest from the hand pressing at his throat. He couldn’t remember when that had gotten there. A weak hand came up to grab at it, the ring around his finger unbearably tight as he faced literal death in the face.

“Please,” he begged, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes from the memories flooding into his mind, a torrent of emotion that he was powerless to stop. He hated this-- hated appearing so weak to him. Seeming like he still cared. Jack was supposed to kill the Reaper. Their friendship had ended long ago. He wasn’t supposed to care anymore. “Gabriel, I--”

“Gabriel is  _ dead _ ,” Reaper sneered, pressing harder against Jack’s windpipe, and Jack choked back a sob. “You killed him. And now, his ghost is going to kill you. We’ve come full circle, Jack. You should be glad. No death would be more fitting for you. You’ll die the way you were meant to-- by the hands of the man you left behind while you bathed in praise and glory. Take one last breath.”

The night of his marriage flashed through his mind. Jack gasped out the first thing to come to mind, the words thick on his tongue, unnatural.

“ _ Te amo para siempre, Gabriel. Nada va a cambiar eso. Ni siquiera la muerte. _ ”

Reaper stiffened at those words. Jack could almost feel his veins turning to ice, even through the thick material of his gloves, and the smoke stopped pouring from the holes of his mask. As if he was holding his breath. As if he was afraid to breathe.

Jack closed his eyes, and remembered when Gabriel had said it to him. It had been during the dance.

  
  
  


During the song he had chosen for him.

“ _ Is this all I am? And all I ever was? All that he has won Is all that I have lost. Won't you hear me out, Gabriel? Can't you see the shape I'm in? Just don't leave me alone. Just don't leave me alone... _ "

He had sung the lyrics to him as they swung together from side to side, and Gabriel had looked as though Jack was his whole world. Had stared at him with all the love in the world, every last ounce that he had in his being. It was all for Jack now. He couldn’t hide the dampness at the corners of his eyes, even as he tried to blink them away.

Jack reached up and wiped them away for him, pressing a light kiss to one scarred cheek.

  
  
  


Reaper’s breathing was shallow.

  
  
  


Gabriel had leaned in to Jack, kissing him long and hard. The song had just ended, and all the lanterns were alight as dusk fell and night crept in upon them. There was applause around them, and somewhere, the sound of little Fareeha gagging, but it was all white noise in comparison to what Gabriel whispered to him. Not even that-- the world was silent, and still. All that was left was Gabriel.

“ _ Te amo para siempre, Jack. Nada va a cambiar eso. Ni siquiera la muerte. _ ”

_ I love you forever, Jack. Nothing will change that. Not even death. _

  
  
  


He didn’t know how it happened, but one moment, there was a hand around his throat, and the next, only a glove. Reaper had torn himself away from Jack, and Jack had been holding his glove so tight, he had torn it off of his arm. There was a distance between them, Reaper still holding out his arm as if prepared to push Jack back if he ventured too close. Defensive. Scared.  _ Primal _ .

Jack’s breath caught in his throat as there was a glint in the low light of the moon, and Reaper might as well have still been choking him. The sight before him shocked a single syllable from his throat.

“ _ Gabe… _ ”

The glint of the onyx ring was all too familiar. Jack knew it well.

It was what he had proposed to Gabriel with.

_ And he was still wearing it _ .

Before Jack could say anything more, Gabriel was dissipating into smoke, fleeing the scene. He said nothing to Jack-- nothing at all. Not even a growl, or a promise of, “We’ll meet again,” uttered past spitting lips. Nothing. Jack pushed himself from the wall towards him.

“Wait!” he cried, looking all around him as the smoke became thinner and thinner. He tore off his own glove, holding his and Gabe’s in his right hand while he waved around his left. “ _ I still have mine, too! I still have it! I still… I still have… _ ”

He received no reply, save for a brisk gust of wind. He lowered his arm as tears spilled from his eyes.

“... after all this time… I still have it.”

Did Gabriel remember that today was the day?

Did he even care?

Jack stood there for a moment longer, before glancing down at his right hand. He still had Reaper’s glove. Gabriel’s glove.

He fell back against the wall behind him, sliding down, as he held it to his face, letting his tears stain the material. If he focused hard enough, he could almost imagine that the glove cradled against his cheek was Gabriel’s hand. Could almost still smell the cologne and the cake, and harder still, the smell of sex and whispered promises and laughter and  _ love _ .

Those simple, little, lingering moments. All those little moments that Jack clung to, tried to forget, tried to remember, tried to damn and bless, all in the same moment. He remembered what Ana had said about moments like this-- moments that hurt him, that made him smile and sob.

“Love isn’t happily ever after,” Ana had said at the ceremony as she bonded them together for life. “Love is the experience of writing your story. It’s not one moment — not even this moment. It’s every moment.”

And it was only now that Jack believed it. Because to him, this single moment was just as precious as all the others. His heart thrummed away in his chest, painfully potent; a reminder that the second heartbeat he should feel against his chest, or under his fingertips, would never be there again. Never his. Not for one single moment.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize again.
> 
> My Tumblr: [dylawa.tumblr.com](https://dylawa.tumblr.com)


End file.
